


Sharp and soft

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Alpennia Series - Heather Rose Jones
Genre: F/F, Knifeplay, Pre-Canon, Swords, Three Nights at the Opera, except with a sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Jeanne doesn't think herself the type of woman to be enthralled by violence. But she can't help thinking about Barbara's sword...





	Sharp and soft

Perhaps Jeanne could have done more to announce herself before coming into the opera box, but she was used to being a welcome intruder. And she was eager to see the young woman she’d been staring at across the room, the only person in the house who seemed to be actually hearing the opera. But when she stepped inside she found herself greeted with quite a different figure: Barbara no longer stood listening with rapt attention, but was turned to the door with her sword drawn at full length, bestowing on Jeanne a different sort of attention entirely.

Eyes narrowed, arm tense but confident. The tip of the sword less than a foot away from Jeanne’s chest. She took a step back. “I did not want to intrude.”

Color suffused Barbara’s cheeks; the sword was lowered and sheathed. Barbara coughed. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise, Mesnera.”

The awkwardness of her posture, half wary and half apologetic, was oddly endearing. This was neither the opera lover nor the well trained duelist—this was Barbara taken off guard by how much she had been on-guard, Barbara the woman of flesh and blood. It was charming, but also a little pitiful. Jeanne smiled reassuringly. “That is quite all right. And no need to call me Mesnera. We’ve met before, four or five years ago, if you remember. You may call me Jeanne.”

“Is there something you wanted?” Still so tense.

“I wanted to listen to opera with someone who seemed to be enjoying herself. My friends won’t stop talking and distracting me. But you seem to know something about opera, so I thought you might be better company. Here, let me pull up a chair…”

She had herself situated in moments, and Barbara had no chance to protest. She’d made a good opening, she thought; she too was a duelist of sorts.

* * *

She didn’t think herself the type of woman to be enthralled by violence, had never understood all her female companions who would swoon at the mention of how many people a man had killed in battle or how he had bested an opponent in a recent brawl. It was all so indelicate, so uncivilized, not the kind of game she liked to play. She wouldn’t have thought such qualities could ever attract her.

And they’d moved past the sword as an indiscretion, a simple mistake, an embarrassment. Jeanne had had Barbara well in hand for the rest of the evening too, carefully guiding things along. She’d talked to Barbara about how she might look in a dress; she’d talked to Barbara about poetry. All very civilized.

But now it was late, and she was lying awake in bed, and she couldn’t deny her desires. Her thoughts kept straying back, not to the conclusion of the meeting (her finger on Barbara’s lips, an extracted promise of a future meeting) but on its start. The point of a sword a foot away from her chest. Dangerous and yet not at the same time. Barbara’s grip was careful, her arm steady, her violence controlled. She would not have hurt Jeanne, but she could have.

She didn’t think herself the sort of woman who was attracted to that sort of thing. Usually. But she didn’t deny her own desires either. She thought of the tip of that sword and the length of it, the sharp edge glimmering in the light from the candelabras, and she felt her heart beat just a little bit faster. Barbara, Barbara.

* * *

“Barbara,” she said, a few weeks into their affair, “there’s something I’d like to try.”

Barbara, who was getting used to Jeanne saying these things, sat down on the edge of the bed with her and raised her eyebrows. She had gotten over her embarrassment faster than any other virgin Jeanne had ever known, and now took Jeanne’s suggestions sometimes with a little skepticism but mostly with half-ironic acceptance. Still, she did smile as she said, “And what is it?”

Jeanne licked her lips. “…would you mind taking your sword out?”

Barbara frowned slightly, but only in confusion. She drew it, and held it in her lap, pointed away from her so it couldn’t hurt anybody.

Jeanne touched it near the hilt. It was a bit blunter there than at the tip, but still pretty sharp. She touched it with only the tip of her fingers, gingerly. “…you know, Barbara, your being a duelist is…”

Barbara raised her eyebrows again. “Not very high-class, but it is practical.” But her lips quirked. Jeanne knew she could tell it wasn’t what Jeanne was driving at. She just liked playing devil’s advocate, the wench.

“It’s very attractive,” Jeanne murmured. “A dangerous woman.”

She half expected Barbara to snort, but while Barbara did laugh a little, she turned the sword in her hand speculatively. “Is it, then?”

Jeanne said, “Very.”

“So? Shall we pretend I am a soldier home from the war, or a pirate? Shall I have killed someone for you?”

Jeanne wet her lips again. “I want you to put the blade on my neck.”

“No.”

“Barbara… it’ll be safe. I know you’d never cut me.”

“A sword is not a toy.”

“I know.” Jeanne was probably crossing some boundaries here. Barbara didn’t like to mingle business and pleasure—they barely ever talked about her profession. But, “Please?”

Barbara’s expression was still and neutral. But she put one hand up to hold Jeanne’s shoulder, and, steadying her, lifted her sword so that the flat rested on Jeanne’s shoulder. The sharper side faced away from Jeanne’s neck; if the sword slipped it wouldn’t cut. But if Barbara chose, she could turn the sword quickly, easily. Jeanne drew in a quick breath.

When Barbara withdrew the sword, she waited until it was sheathed, then practically threw herself on her. Overexcited, she bit Barbara’s lip, and Barbara huffed, “I think you’re the dangerous one.” But she fondly put her hands on Jeanne’s waist and held her, arms at once strong and gentle.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for femslashficlets' challenge 203, "sharp". On hearing the prompt my thoughts went something like this: Huh... Barbara has a sword... I feel like Margerit probably doesn't have a sword kink tho... but Jeanne now... with Jeanne you never know... hmmmmmmmm  
> and then I wrote this.  
> I hope someone out there enjoyed! Comments are quite welcome :)


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